Past Hours by Frances Anne Kemble

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Two angels have them in eternal keeping.
He that beside the deep vaults of the past
Stands to receive the treasures, that with weeping
And lamentation into them men cast,
Forgetting that alone they hold that fast
Which to his marble storehouse they commit,
And He, that spirit bright and terrible,
Who at the feet of God doth thoughtful sit,
Upon whose scroll, in lines of flame are writ
Each hour of every day of those who dwell
Upon this earth: He hath those days and hours,
Whom, as they smiled on us, we counted ours,
And who, when that great history appears,
Shall make us answer, as if we were theirs.

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